


thank you for not laughing

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Underage Drinking, how do people write thousands of tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-02 08:26:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12723084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: (Well, you laughed a little bit.)Kenny and Butters compare sad stories.





	thank you for not laughing

South Park Elementary had a good vantage point to the pine forests that waved like ocean waves in the night wind. If he squinted, they really looked like a sea at night, trees blue and swaying with the stars above peaceful and cold as ever, even in the middle of August. The middle of August, when the pavement was still warm, warm enough to radiate heat into the cool night. Warm enough that the coyotes sang sharp harmonies with their babies, families singing lonely songs to find one another in the blackest of nights. When he sat up on the roof, kicking his feet into the empty air, it brought a feeling of adrenaline into his veins, feeling it sharply in his wrists and ankles. He had simply come up here to be-- it was up here, a silent audience to the coyote concerts, where he felt as though he could simply exist. Here, he wasn't the poor kid, or a guardian angel, or cursed, or a vigilante. Up here, alone, he wasn't Kenny. He was anonymous, for once.

He'd brought a fifth of cinnamon-spiked whiskey with him, liking the way it burned like fire but tasted like cinnamon hearts. It was warm, too, and he'd always liked being warm. Now, however, he sat the bottle beside him, a silent companion for him to cup his chin in his hands. The town was still, tonight, as it always was. The people of South Park went to bed early and woke up with the sun, though the lone car rolled through the streets, red taillights a beacon for Kenny's curious gaze. He liked to make up stories for those silent drivers--who they were, where they were going. Tonight's special guest was a runaway prince from a micronation, desperate to feel normal just once in his life--he'd hoped he could blend in in a small town, but come morning, everyone would know who he was. Word traveled fast around here, after all--but for now, while he drove off onto the highway, he could pretend not to be royalty.

_(Well, that one hit a little too close to home, didn't it, Ken?)_

Tonight was different, though, as Kenny's gaze picked up on a figure, walking the streets with hands in their pockets, singing a soft melody with words Kenny couldn't make out. It had almost scared him into falling off of the roof--not that it would have mattered. His eyebrows fell into a hard line when he figured out exactly who it was--the only person who would genuinely take a night stroll while singing, pure as freshly-fallen snow. Butters, of course, seemed to notice Kenny at the same time, turning up to stare at him with a quiet yell.

"Auuh- _shit_ , Ken, what're y' doin' up there? Are you okay?" He was standing directly underneath Kenny, now, direct enough that were Kenny to fall, he would break his landing. Kenny leaned forward still, hands on his knees, to look down at Butters, eyes shiny in the yellow light of the single streetlight in the parking lot of the school.

"I'm fine, whatever. What are _you_ doing, Buttercup? It's late, you know." Butters' eyebrows furrow at the nickname, knocking his knuckles together anxiously, just like he always did. It seemed he was worried about Kenny, concerned he was going to jump, or something--which was evidenced by him practically sprinting to get onto the roof after Kenny invited him up, almost stumbling in his frantic movements before heaving himself onto the roof. Kenny hears him fall, moaning about how he scraped his elbow, but he rushes over to Kenny, surprising him by bodily dragging him away from the edge, speaking frantically while holding him as tightly as his small arms can.

"Don't _do it_ , Ken! There's- there's so much more t'life, an'... An' y'shouldn't! An', well, I think y'shouldn't be alone, right now, so 'm here, but, uh... An'- uh..."

"Butters?"

"An' you're a real good guy, y'know? An' y'have lots of friends, an' y'know we're graduatin' soon, an'life's gonna change, an-"

"Hey, Butters?"

"... Yeah, Ken?"

"I wasn't going to kill myself."

Butters pauses, fingers tightening in Kenny's hoodie before he releases him, quickly moving to settle beside him, eyeing the bottle of whiskey with a curious gaze before looking back to Kenny with a quiet frown. "Y'weren't?" He asks, eventually, huffing a nervous, quiet laugh before shaking his head in disbelief, once again hitting his knuckles together. Kenny's oddly endeared by the motion, but he sighs and shakes his head with a fond smile, reaching up to move some of his hair away from his eyes.

"Nah. I just come up here to think sometimes." It's not really a lie, but he's sure delving into the existentialist nightmare that causes his desperation to disconnect with reality would only worry Butters more. He laughs, just a little, and saunters over to grab the whiskey before sitting back beside Butters, taking a sip before offering it to him. The other boy looks nervous, frowning at the lip of the bottle before quietly taking it, sipping it, and immediately sputtering and coughing as though he's never tasted it before--and it's likely that he hasn't.

"Gah. Hah... Uh, well, uh, what d'ya come up here t'think about, Ken? I usually just, uh, just do my thinkin' at home, but..." He laughs, shyly, somehow embarrassed that he explained that minute detail about his life, but his soft gaze is expectant, not quite holding eye contact with Kenny but curious nonetheless. Kenny laughs, a little, and offers a noncommittal shrug, like he can't quite decide what he wants to talk about. Which is true, in a sense, though after a few moments, he cups his chin in his hands and sighs, again.

"I just like thinking, I guess. About my life, and stuff. Do you ever feel like your life is just, like, a fuckin' line of tragedies, over and over, and it feels like... I dunno. Unfair? ... Hah, maybe that sounds dumb, Buttercup." Kenny's trying not to notice Butters' pointed gaze, curious and sharp. His eyes are typically soft, his expressions and words easygoing, but now he seems invested in Kenny's words, hanging on the edge of his sentences with only his fingertips, and once he seems to realize that Kenny's done talking for now, he leans forward, eyes bright. 

"Yes! Yeah, Ken, 's exactly like that! I, uh, y'know, a lot of things 're sad, but, uh... Y'can only be really sad if-"

"If you've been really happy before, yeah?" Kenny finishes Butters' sentence for him, smiling fondly, and when Butters looks surprised, he laughs, airy and light, before explaining that it was those words that seemed to change Stan's life, years ago. Of course, a lot of things seemed profound for Stan, but that one seemed to stick through the years. Butters was never aware of the effect he had on people, though- even people like Cartman, who were somehow, _miraculously_ , changed by Butters' unending loyalty. Butters seemed insecure, and seemed sad--held back by this worry that he was never good enough, apparent even as a fourth-grader who constantly feared getting grounded, or being punished. Even now, after being interrupted by Kenny, Butters seems to worry that he's going to laugh at him, or something, and suddenly the words are tumbling out of Kenny's mouth-- "It's really smart, to say that. Y'know? But I can't help but forget about the happy stuff, sometimes. Does that sound bad?"

"Not at all, Ken! No! I, uh... I... I have sad stories too! And they're hard to forget, but, uh, I guess... Guess I just learned to live with them?" His cheeks flush at that, and he looks up into the stars, tilting his chin all the way up, exposing his long neck as his hair brushes his shoulders, just barely. He's searching the sky, perhaps looking for constellations or a shooting star, a wish to take back what he just said. Or perhaps he's simply avoiding Kenny. Like he can't stand to look at Kenny after admitting that, and Kenny once again nudges the bottle into his palms, causing Butters to jump with a start, looking at him with wide eyes before eventually laughing and taking another sip, face scrunching up in disgust. He swallows it nonetheless, and Kenny snorts a laugh when Butters slaps his hands on his knees in discomfort, shaking his head violently. 

"Tell me about them, then."

"... 'Bout what, Ken?"

"The sad stories, I mean."

Butters looks at him for a long time, quiet, and Kenny wonders if he's crossed a line. He's about to brush it off with a joke about therapy, or something- suggest Butters tell him how that made him feel, before he notices Butters' knuckles knocking together, slow and rhythmic, avoiding Kenny's gaze before he takes a long, shuddery sigh, closing his eyes tightly before fixing a sharp stare on Kenny. He bites his lip, once, then shakes his head. He seems to be going through the motions, or the seven stages of grief or... Something, before Kenny's internal rambling is cut off by Butters once again speaking up, his misplaced southern drawl cutting through the night air. Even if his voice is quiet, the apparent sincerity in it gets Kenny's attention like a beacon.

"My, uh, my ma tried t'kill me, once."

"What the _fuck_?"

Butters blinks, slowly, eyebrows sinking into a frown, but he manages to steel himself, hands knocking knuckles ever faster as the words tumble, bordering on cacophonous, out of his mouth, like Kenny had stuck a thumbtack into a water balloon and it was spilling out faster than he could stop it. "My ma, b-back when, uh, si- er, my dad, he was goin' out a lot, uh, flirtin' with guys 'n stuff, and she... She found out, b'cause of me, s-so, uh, she got a little, um, unhinged- and uh, she decided that she 'n I, we'd go for a drive. And- and she drove us down t'the dock, and told me t'keep my seatbelt on, and got out of the car, and it rolled int' the water. I, uh, I guess she expected it t'sink, but it didn't, 'n I was fine, but... I still love 'er, course! She's my ma, and she's great, but... I, uh." He finishes with an unceremonious shrug, laughing a little hysterically as though giggling about it will remove the weight of his words off of their shoulders. Kenny doesn't know what to say- doesn't know, at all. This wasn't unusual for him, to feel like words just won't form in his mind, but right now, Butters _needs_ words, needs something more than his own laughter and the whisper of a breeze to respond to his confession.

"... Uh. One time, I tried to force my mom to have an abortion." Kenny pulls his hood up and plays with the strings, the shame of his childhood actions finally catching up with him, and he's dismayed when Butters howls a laugh, still riding the high of adrenaline, veins electric, and for a moment, Kenny wonders what adrenaline feels like to him. But that wasn't the point, as the other boy was now staring expectantly at him, eyes grey in the dark but still curious, still sharp, but not prying--never crossing a line. "... I guess I just, didn't want a baby sibling, back then. Stupid me. But, uh, everything I did just ended up fucking my poor dad over. It was like something was protecting mom. But she never seemed too worried after that. Maybe she was just too drunk to care, haha."

"Aw, jeez, Ken, what'd y'do?" Butters is still snickering, still laughing as though he can't quite believe what Kenny had just admitted to him. Maybe it's hysteria, or adrenaline, or whiskey, and maybe it's the fact that the words that just left Kenny's mouth are borderline blasphemous, but Butters can't seem to control his laughter. Kenny can hardly get a word in edgewise as he explains, dramatically, the series of events he took in an attempt to stop his mother from being pregnant- events that really just caused his poor father to suffer. By the time Kenny mentions the amusement park, Butters is gasping for air, shaking his head and trying to stop the tears welling in his eyes from sliding down his cheeks. Kenny's almost offended by Butters' laughter, unsure of whether or not Butters was laughing at the story or at Kenny's ridiculous antics, until he speaks up again, words weighed down by heaving, joyful breaths. "Ken, th-... That was s'pposed to be a sad story! Mine was!"

"That wasn't sad enough for you?"

"No! No, buh-because, uh, because it had a happy endin', 'n all, and it was funny along the way."

There's a second where Kenny marvels at Butters' ability to make anything into a good situation. Nervous and shy as he was, he still seemed to be a bright-eyed optimist at heart, wiping the tears from his eyes with his knuckles. The second is gone as soon as he registers it, of course, fading into nothingness and leaving Kenny with another realization: Butters was, perhaps unintentionally, challenging him to tell a better story. So he tried, telling everything he could--even twisting some of the deaths he remembered to make them into simply fun stories. Butters still has a few giggles, but by the time Kenny reaches his hospitalization, Butters is sober, breathing so quietly Kenny's no longer sure if he's even there.

"... I just remember, uh, all I wanted was Stan to show up. And he never did, hah."

"... Was that when y'went away, uh, um... Fuh- for a little while?"

"When I what?"

Butters' cheeks flush, quietly, at the interrogation, and he defensively throws his hands up while explaining--explaining that there were a few months where Kenny was... Gone. Maybe on vacation, or at a fancy children's hospital, but that was when Butters started being friends with Stan, Kyle, and Cartman. He explains, somewhat hesitantly, that they used to dress him in an orange parka and call him Kenny-- or Not-Kenny, on occasion-- and how he was okay with it, because he just really, really wanted to be their friend.

Kenny McCormick's heart breaks, at that second, for two reasons. One, because Butters Stotch was so desperate to have friends that he'd practically do anything for them (something he already knew, at least somewhat). Two, Butters (and, presumably, everyone else) didn't remember him _dying in the hospital_. It's nothing new, they didn't remember anything else, but that one in particular stung, just a little. Butters picks up on that sadness, and immediately starts apologizing and making excuses for his friends, trying to say anything and everything to save face for them while also trying to ensure that Kenny wasn't upset. Of course, he never really could understand why Kenny was so saddened by those words. He falls silent, however, upon watching Kenny down another few swallows of whiskey in absolute silence, not even making a face at the sting of alcohol in his throat.

"Uh, ah, Ken? How d'ya do that?"

"Do _what_?"

"Y'know. Eheh-... Uh. Y'know, when y'just, drink that, like it's nothin' at all."

"Oh. Do you not drink very often?"

"Er, I-"

 Kenny laughs. He laughs, loudly and freely, and shakes his head. Butters frowns, at first, staring at Kenny with wide, confused eyes, but eventually, he slides into laughter too, grinning at Kenny before hiding his grin in his hands. They sit there, tipsy and giggling, for what feels like fifteen minutes before Butters calms down. After a moment of staring at Kenny, Butters cups his chin in his hands, and tilts his head quietly--almost like a cat, in his slow, easy movements.

"Hey, Ken... Uh, forgive me if I'm crossin' a line, buh- but, uh... Tell me your saddest story. 'n I'll tell y'mine."

"You mean your mom trying to kill you wasn't your saddest?"

"Oh, aauuh, no... Not... Not really, y'know."

"Well, you can go first, Butterscotch."

Butters frowns, apparently not drawing the connection between the nickname and his full name, and anxiously stares at the roof before explaining his family-- from his grandmother all the way to his parents, everything they've done that's hurt him. Butters explains that, by now, he's sure the reason he's so shy and anxious is because of them. Because they don't know how to be a real family--his parents don't know how to raise a child without punishing him. Finally, he throws his hands up in a shrug, smiling delicately at Kenny. "Oh, uh, okay. Your turn, Ken," he laughs, scratching his cheek shyly.

_(Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with them?)_

Quietly, he passes Butters the whiskey--and, hopes for a moment that perhaps, he won't remember anything, come morning. As Butters once again suffers through another shot of the stuff, Kenny takes a deep breath--and explains everything about his curse that he can. It's weird, saying it aloud, but he can't stop himself now that he's started. Eventually, he drifts away from talking about dying and having no one remember, but moves to talk, shockingly, about his own feelings. He talks about how much it hurts that no one remembers, no one missing him, and no one noticing at all. He's angry, at himself, for getting choked up by the end of it. It's not something he ever talks about, because Butters won't understand, and probably won't even remember, but at least he can tell himself that he got it out. It's too quiet, now, of course--Butters is silent, tea-saucer eyes staring right through him like Kenny just blew his mind. Kenny almost regrets talking, knows he should've said something else--he should've made something up, a lie about seeing one of the neighborhood possums die, but suddenly, Butters' knuckles are knocking together anxiously, and he clears his throat.

"Ah, uh, is that true, Ken?"

Kenny offers a shrug- he doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to answer a question that he's not even sure himself is true. He remembers dying, but perhaps, he's just the one who doesn't remember anything correctly. Perhaps he's never actually died, just like everyone thought. Kenny laughs, gently, and stares at the roof below them, and then the scrape on Butters' arm, blood drying into a deep red color, the pale skin of his arm turned an angry red by the abrasion. Butters notices him staring, but then laughs, quietly, before slowly shuffling closer to Kenny's side and wrapping his arms around him, and holds him for a long, long time.

"... I'm, uh, ah, real sorry, Ken. That sounds awful. Buh- but... But... I, uh... I'll always remember y', Ken. Always 'n always. Even if... Even if I haven't remembered you dyin', I... I won't forget you, Ken."

Kenny blinks. He's pretty sure that this is the first time, ever, that someone has told him that. Slowly, a smile stretches across Kenny's face, and he reaches up with one hand to idly pat Butters' arm. Butters laughs, tightening his grip, and they remain like that for a few minutes, letting the breeze do all of the talking. Kenny almost falls asleep, comfortable like that, and he's pretty sure Butters has, too. Glancing down at the other, Kenny notices Butters' eyes are open, looking out over the city with a soft smile on his face. He looks content, for once, as though he's finally allowing himself to relax. Finally, he speaks in such a small, sweet voice, that Kenny isn't even sure if he was supposed to hear it.

"Y'know, you're my best friend, Ken."

**Author's Note:**

> it's 2017 and i'm writing thousands of words of south park fanfiction.
> 
> q&a:  
> \- what's a fifth of whiskey? a mickey, if you're nasty (or canadian, even though by definition a mickey is smaller), or, if you're not of drinking age, a fairly small bottle of liquor. usually about 750 ml.  
> \- what did i listen to writing this? changing my major - fun home, roman holiday - halsey. they have nothing to do with this but they're some pretty good jams i guess  
> \- why did i write butters' voice in the worst way possible? because i love his cute little drawl and love to write accents  
> \- is my username a pun on nickelback? yeah.  
> \- why did i end it like that? because otherwise it would've ended up 59 chapters long  
> \- why did i title it about not laughing if they spend 20% of the fic laughing? because titles are hard


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